


Of Iron

by Poplitealqueen



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dáin Ironfoot Appreciation Society, F/M, Fanart, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poplitealqueen/pseuds/Poplitealqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dáin son of Náin, Lord of the Iron Hills, called 'Ironfoot' by many and 'unreasonable' quite often (especially by one sour Wizard) was unwilling to sacrifice his own subjects on the off chance that his cousin could sneak a particularly pretty stone from under a dragon's snout. </p><p>He was, however, more than willing to sacrifice himself. That's just who he was. And family was family after all. Even if they thought one rock could sway the Six other Houses of the Dwarves.</p><p>That was obviously bloody mad. </p><p>But, Dáin thought as he and Thorin crossed the same bridge in the same quiet corner of the Shire for the upteenth time, I've never much minded being called bloody mad before.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Aka an AU set in the canon universe where Dáin Ironfoot joins the Company of Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim Erebor.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about this AU for a while now. It wasn't until recently that I really started to put it together, and all I can say is...OOOoooooooooooh. 
> 
> Here we go.
> 
> -Poplitealqueen
> 
> PS: And a quick little thank you to Lacefedora and Determamfidd, for both being as excited about this as I am. I really can't tell you how much that means.

[Amazing Cover Art by lacefedora](http://lacefedora.tumblr.com/post/128018290511/so-of-iron-is-a-fic-by-poplitealqueen-where)

 

* * *

 "We're nearly there."

Thorin gave Dáin a dubious look as he snatched back the hastily sketched map, quickly checking the words that were scrawled on there. "...Right?"

"Oh, sure," Dáin paused and then gave his cousin a shake of his head. "Nearly there."

Thorin grumbled at him as he pushed a grey strand of hair out of his face, reading to himself.

"Cross The Water...we did that. Continue on until you've reached The Hill--"

"This place is _only_ bloody hills," grumbled Dáin, peeking over Thorin's shoulder.

"Not helping," Thorin growled, squinting down at the untidy script. Not because he couldn't read it, Dáin guessed. Dwarves had exceptionally keen eyes, especially on dark nights like this one. He probably just couldn't make heads nor tails of that blasted Wizard's scribbling.

[Dáin and Thorin Lost in the Shire by fishfingersandscarves](http://fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/post/127520196160/poplitealqueen-commissioned-me-to-draw-a-scene)

 They'd been at this for hours. Traveling to and fro in this peaceful little corner of _Muthurkâmin_ looking for one particular hole--or _smial_ , as Thorin said the locals called them--out of a whole lot of them. Dáin wouldn't have minded much if they weren't on a schedule. The Shire was a quaint place with quiet streams and soft grass. Calm and relaxing down to the earth itself...and the absolute _last_ place he suspected a professional _Burglar_ to come from. He was beginning to wonder just how much help they were really getting from _Tharkûn._ A poorly drawn map seemed about it. He looked down and read a line out loud.

" _Straight to the top with an old oak tree, green door beneath and there you'll be_ , " Dáin groaned. "No wonder we're lost."

"Not lost," added Thorin, folding the map closed. "He said it would be easy to find. We'll get there eventually, Mahal willing."

"I half suspect we're just being led in circles as some sort of game." retorted Dáin. 

Thorin offered him an understanding raise of his brows, "I would not put it past him."

Dáin nodded sagely. "What else can you expect, getting directions from a _wizard?_ " he asked as they continued on in the gathering dusk. "Especially from _him_  of all people? We both know he's not one to give a proper answer to anyone, Thorin, nor help lest it benefits him somehow. Not t'mention he's never been fond of folks that don't heed his every word."

" _Us_ , you mean." Thorin snorted softly, seeming about to continue but catching himself at the last minute.

Dáin sighed, knowing he'd said something wrong but unable to figure out what. Thorin had gotten like this every time Dáin had begun questioning the grey wizard's true intentions since meeting his cousin in Bree: that hard, heavy quiet that Dáin had come to know only too well. It left a sour taste in the dwarf lord's mouth. Thorin looked ahead with glazed eyes and a dour frown, staring at nothing and thinking on everything. His mind on a lone peak crowned with clouds of purple...

"At least he's given us directions, I suppose," Dáin continued, trying to pull his cousin back. "S'better than stooping over every door, looking for this Burglar's Mark."

"We'd be thrown out quick enough," Thorin agreed with a small smile, his shoulders relaxing and his mind returning to the present. Dáin nodded with a smile of his own. It seemed he'd yet to lose his touch.

After a time they passed through what looked like a market place, with empty stalls and nothing locked. That made Dáin pause.

"Trusting folk, these Halflings?" he asked. _Was there really a Burglar to be had amongst people like this?_

Thorin looked back and cocked his chin forward, "Not as much as we think, it seems."

Dáin subtly followed his cousin's line of sight, spotting a short fellow with a feather stuck in his cap a ways back from where they'd come. It was a long distance, but Dáin could tell by the way the Halfling held themselves that they were being watched with suspicion. Chin down and legs spread wide, with the lantern held a little ahead of them as if about to ward the two dwarves off. Dáin turned back to Thorin, who had an bitter look on his face.

"Do we look like thieves or _beggars_? " he all but spat. Dáin grabbed his arm. It was stiff beneath his grip

"Well, we _are_ standing in an empty market in the middle of the night," he answered, placating. "Come now, let's find this damnable place already."

Taking a deep breath, Thorin nodded curtly and scanned the horizon.

"There." he said, pointing to the north. High above everything else was a tall hill with a speck of a tree at the top. "That must be it."

Dáin smiled and slapped his palm on Thorin's back.

"Now we're getting somewhere!" he exclaimed." We've only passed by it twice. Better late than never, eh?"

As they began to make their way up to their new destination, Dáin chanced a look behind them. All he caught of their watcher was the tip of a feather disappearing around the bend.

_Good. Sod off. We're doing no wrong._

They continued on, talking of family and friends as they went. Dáin was surprised to learn that Thorin's nephews would be coming along on this quest as well.

"Dís must be beside herself," Dáin commented, expecting his other cousin to be pacing holes in the ground of Ered Luin as they spoke. Thorin just shook his head.

"They are both old enough to make their own decisions on the matter," he said in a stiff, rehearsed voice. Dáin suspected he'd had plenty of practice at it before going to his sister. "They are the heirs to Erebor. They deserve to see their homeland."

Dáin grunted in agreement, mulling over whether now would be a good a time as any to ask. It had plagued him since leaving Bree. Since leaving his home, even.

"So," Dáin began slowly, watching Thorin carefully. "Are you finally g'nna to  tell me how that old wizard managed to convince you to do this? I did come all the way from the Iron Hills to find out."

There was an awkward silence between them. They'd reached the base of the tall hill by then, and were climbing the path curving up the slope when Thorin spoke again, his voice small.

"Did you pass by it?" he asked, unexpectedly. Thorin didn't have to name it for Dáin to know what he spoke of. The pain and want in the words was more than enough. 'Erebor' suddenly seemed to hang like a reaper above their heads.

"No," answered Dáin, casting the spectre from his mind. "I took the trade road south, through Dunland an' the Brownlands, as I always have." He looked Thorin up and down. "You spoke of returning to Erebor in your letters."

"I did." Thorin said.

Dáin harrumphed, abandoning beating around the bush. "You say things like that. How the wyrm has left! But a dragon unseen isn't a dragon gone, Thorin, an' how d'you think you're getting in? What exactly has the grey wizard promised you?"

There didn't need to be any more said between the two on the matter of _that_ wizard. Though each respected and feared him--as anyone with a lick of sense did when it came to wizards-- neither had the best opinion of him. Nor did they trust him completely. What if what he'd promised Thorin was a lie to make up for all the times they'd taken his words unheeded? Dáin especially began to recall every instance he'd told the old sorcerer to bugger off when his advice had begun to sound too much like the oily whispers of a Council member looking to help themselves. He'd already lost count as they passed the first door in the hill, painted a garish yellow.

Thorin didn't speak. They passed the second door, the third, with a small light in the window, the fourth, and the fifth.

"Thorin." said Dáin.

He didn't reply

The sixth and the seventh passed by, followed by the eighth. When the oak tree was finally beginning to look like a proper tree, Thorin paused in the road.

"He promised me hope," he finally answered. "Not a trick. A hope I haven't had for over two centuries." He turned to Dáin with a grim look, as if suspecting an argument. Dáin wished to, more than he could say he wished he could convince his cousin how foolish this entire venture was.

But it wasn't his place. It wasn't his loss. If it were his home that had been taken, would he be able to listen to reason if told he could get it back?

Not a bloody chance.

Digging the foot his iron leg into the dirt for purchase, Dáin winked as he strutted ahead of his cousin, "Then let's get heading there already."

He heard an exhale and the thumping of boots as Thorin ran up after him. He was smiling, wider and truer than Dáin could recall. For some odd reason, that made him feel troubled more than anything.

"I knew I could count on you, Dáin," said Thorin. "I'm glad to have you here."

Dáin waved a hand, "Yes, yes. We're family, Thorin. An' I'm not about to let you go off an' do something foolish without me...Now, is this the place?"

They'd finally reached the crest of the hill, and stood before a gate with a well-kept garden behind it. Even further back, hidden among flowers and eaves, was a round green door. A bright square of light shown outside the window next to it, and loud familiar voices floated toward them in the dark.

"Indeed it is," said Thorin, already pushing the gate open and walking up the steps as Dáin followed close behind.

"Don't be nervous now." Dáin said.

Thorin scoffed, pulling himself together as they reached the door. True to their guess, near the bottom right glowed a cirth rune like a small bit of moonlight stuck fast in the wood. "I don't get nervous." he stated, matter-of-factly.

"Just like you don't get lost, aye?" remarked Dáin wryly.

Thorin knocked hard and quick with the side of his fist on the round green door, ignoring Dáin's little quip. There was a sudden hush from inside.

"There's a door-bell, y'know," commented Dáin. He was treated to an amusing flush creeping up his cousin's neck and a withering look.

"I take it back," said Thorin, calmly. "Make sure to send a raven when you return to the Iron Hills, Lord Ironfoot."

"You're glad to have me here, don't deny it," laughed Dáin.

And the door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shirrifs were the sole law enforcement officials in the Shire and the main branch of the Watch. Since in the Shire law was based solely on common sense and ancient tradition, it was not broken. It was the Shirriffs' job to protect the Shire from trespassers more than anything. There were a total of twelve in all of the Shire, three in each Farthing, and they were distinguished from "civilians" by a feather worn in their caps
> 
> * _Tharkûn_ = the name given to Gandalf by the Dwarves. It means 'Staff-man' in Khuzdul
> 
> * _Muthurkâmin_ = Middle-Earth in Khuzdul


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dáin and Thorin finally reach their destination, and like 5000 more characters show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank everyone enough who left kudos and commented and subscribed and bookmarked this story! Your enthusiasm makes me so excited, I can't even explain!
> 
> I hope you like this next chapter. It got a bit long. Probably because 13 other characters showed up.
> 
> That'll complicate things.
> 
> -Poplitealqueen 
> 
> Enjoy!

[Alternate Cover Art by Yours Truly](http://poplitealqueen.tumblr.com/post/126985275659)

 

* * *

 

The first thing Dáin noticed was a map hanging on the far wall. It was a large one, well-kept and marked all over with red ink. It reminded him of an old explorer's map of the Far East his _'adad_   had shown him once, revealing paths and roads unknown unless you'd walked them first.

So this fellow _was_ an explorer of sorts? That was surprising.

The next was a tapering wizard in too much grey glowering down at him. The top of his head nearly brushed the low curve of the ceiling, and his very beard seemed to twitch in bewilderment at the sight of him.

"Gandalf," Thorin greeted him with a self-assured air that hadn't been there just a moment ago. He looked around the foyer casually as his boots passed the threshold. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. We lost our way, twice."

"An' had ourselves followed by a distrustful wee fellow with a feather sticking out of his head," added Dáin.

"With the way you blunder and bluster about, I suspect half of Hobbiton thinks a herd of Oliphaunts has invaded!" Gandalf snapped, then smiled crookedly. "It has been too long, Lord Dáin. I did not realize you would be accompanying us." 

 _"_ Aye, I am. It hasn't been long enough, though, by the look on your face, " the tusked dwarf  bowed to the wizard. "Good t'see your opinion of me has changed about as much as your clothes have."

Dáin heard Thorin snort lightly beside him as he unclasped his cloak, and Gandalf harrumphed.

"You were given a map..." he muttered quietly under his breath.

 Huddled in the rounded doorway nearby was a group of welcome and familiar faces. Dáin recognized most of them, and smiled broadly when they called out his and Thorin's names in surprise and excitement.

That was when a very loud, very unfamiliar, and very _put-upon_ voice sounded above the rest.

"-- 'scuse me, _'scuse_ me. _Pardon me!"_ A Halfling suddenly shot out of the knot of dwarves, nearly falling into Dáin before he righted himself with another half-arsed _"Pardon me"._

"Um, thank you." he mumbled to the group behind him without looking back.

As far as Halflings went, he didn't look much different than the ones Dáin had already seen. Short, plump, and well-groomed (though this one seemed positively frazzled), with a pair of tapered ears sticking out of a maelstrom of tawny curls, and an indignant-bordering-on-horrified expression that Dáin was beginning to assume all of them had when they met a dwarf.

"Bilbo Baggins, good timing as ever," Gandalf said warmly. "Allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Mr. Baggins nodded politely at Dáin with a tight lipped smile, and Dáin responded by clearing his throat and cocking a thumb at his cousin. "Wrong dwarf, lad."

To his credit, the Halfling _seemed_ calm enough.

That was, until Thorin spoke up in his _lordly_ voice.

Dáin couldn't bloody stand that voice. It reminded him too much of court politics and judgmental courtiers who noticed everything _except_ what was good.

[Background Dáin - He couldn't bloody stand that voice by courtugger](http://courtugger.tumblr.com/post/127852469532/so-this-is-for-pop-and-the-art-exchange-were)

"So, this is the Hobbit," said Thorin in as unimpressed a tone as Dáin had ever heard. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?" responded Mr. Baggins.

Thorin circled around him like a bird of prey, assessing every part of him. "Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"

Mr. Baggins hooked his thumbs behind his braces, "Well, I have some skill at Conkers, if you must know," he replied with a proud little wag of his chin. "But I fail to see why that's relevant."

Thorin finally stopped, and towered over the tiny Mr. Baggins with his arms crossed.

"Hm, thought as much," he looked over his shoulder at the assemblage of dwarves that had been silently watching the encounter, then glanced up at Gandalf reproachfully. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

That caused a ripple of laughter through the lot, including an awkward titter from Gandalf himself. Without another word, Thorin turned and stepped into the dining room.

Gandalf followed soon after, with an apologetic look at Mr. Baggins.

Dáin was left standing with their host in the foyer. The Halfling was looking glumly down at his feet, which were unshod and hairy as a grown dwarrow's chin. He seemed as if he wanted to run off and hide somewhere, and Dáin felt a pang of sympathy deep in chest.

His cousin was a kind dwarf, and he would defend that to the end. But time and circumstance had made Thorin tender to any sort of disappointment. What was worse, he always assumed he was to blame for them; even if he didn't always admit it. And when he shouldered that blame and that worry, it tended to make him into an unabashed _git._

Dáin sighed. "That certainly could've gone better." he said, clearing his throat and straightening up, holding out a hand. "Dáin Ironfoot, at the service of you and yours. Sorry about that. He's actually rather pleasant once you get t'know him. He's just nervous now tis all. You weren't exactly what he expected."

The Halfling exhaled sharply through his nose and shook his hand in a limp grasp.

"It isn't as if I expected any of _this_ either," he admonished quietly. "I'm Bilbo, by the way. Erm, _Baggins._ Bilbo Baggins. Pleasure, Master Ironfoot _._ "

Dáin chuckled at that, and Mr. Baggins' face sagged.

"Ach, I'm not mocking you, lad! But there's no need for titles like that, Mr. Baggins. I much prefer plain Dáin."

He smiled a little, straightening one of his braces, but still didn't look up.

"Of course. Pleasure to meet to you, Dáin."

 

"Cousin Dáin!" chorused Fíli and Kíli.

The two brothers were quick to catch him in hard hugs as Dáin made his way into the dining room. Mr. Baggins had already stepped away to stand beside Gandalf like a child behind his mother's skirts.

Dáin didn't have much time to ponder on that. Kíli was already bombarding him with rapid questions: _How fared his son? His wife? The old river near his home? Would he truly be going all the way to Erebor with them?_

Fíli, meanwhile, offered him a sun-bright smile and a thoughtful glance towards his uncle at the table. Dáin noticed that, and made a note to answer all the lad's questions later.

Both boys were ravenously curious by nature, and clever in their own rights, but Fíli had always been the more attentive of the two; catching hints of things where others wouldn't, and acting on gut feelings that almost always proved true. They were the attributes of a born leader, and it did Dáin proud to see the eldest heir hadn't lost them.

Kíli, all dark-hair and light words, continued to speak up a storm; as if he feared he'd blink and find Dáin gone. Dáin couldn't blame him: Kíli had always clutched at others quickly, whether they be kith or kin. Dáin saw more of a innocent young Thorin in the lad than he cared to admit. But he'd grown, too, and the semblance would not last forever.

He felt a hard thump on his shoulder.

"Hope this means there's an army behind ya," rumbled a deep, familiar voice.

Dwalin looked down at Dáin in that unnervingly calm way he had. Nothing could shock that boulder of a dwarf.

Dáin swallowed back the apologies that had begun to form on his lips when he craned his neck up to look at Dwalin. Blast it all, he had no _reason_ to apologize. Instead, he laughed and slammed their foreheads together as hard as he could.

"Not this time," he said, and chuckled at the way the Dwarven guardsman's eyebrows rose. People tended to take unsatisfactory news better with a smile, but Dwalin had never been one to easily accept things.

And his head was even harder than Dáin's. That headbutt hadn't even made him _twitch._

"You're alone, then?

"Aye," answered Dáin plainly.

The bald dwarf gave a short nod of acceptance, though his face said they'd talk more of this later. It was followed by a worried look from Fíli.

"So the Iron Hills won't be aiding us?" he asked.

"Oi, I'm from the Iron Hills, aren't I?" Dáin asked, merrily. "It's just me for now, aye. An' one of my best mounts across the river."

"You brought one of your boars?" gasped Kíli.

"Or one of the sows," responded Fíli.

Dáin put on a dramatically aghast expression, " _'One of the sows'_. Bah. She's the best of her farrow! Not just some pig. I damn near forgot you boys have no respect for superior mounts."

The brothers snickered and Fíli responded, "Suppose that means you'll have plenty of time to teach us on the road," in the most serious tone he could muster.

"What's her name?" Kíli asked.

"Don't have one for her, _yet_ ," answered Dáin as he shucked off his fur cloak and draped it on the back of a chair. "She'll get one on the road, same as you two will get a proper respect for Iron Hills pigs. Now, move along! I need to talk to your Uncle."

Thorin sat at the head of the table like a sentinel, eating silently from a plate.  None of the Company dared to pester him whilst he ate.

Save for one.

A dark-haired dwarf with smiling eyes and a good-natured look sidled up next to them  just as Dáin sat down. He was cradling a pint between his hands, and by the pink colour of his cheeks, it wasn't his first of the night.

"I was beginning to think you'd decided not to come, my king!" he said, and laughed to himself when he realized he had. "Good to see you didn't."

 Thorin smirked, clapping the dwarf on the forearm.

"It warms me to see you here, Master Bofur," he said, and the dwarf blushed at the words.

"Wouldn't miss the chance, sir." Bofur nodded, and the flaps of his strange hat bobbed with the movement. He looked over at Dáin, and beamed.

"I don't believe we've met before," Dáin said, and held out a hand towards Bofur. Setting his drink on the table, he caught it between two gloved ones. _A miner?_ Dáin wondered.

"No, we haven't," answered Bofur cheerfully. "Though I certainly know who you are! The famous Lord Dáin Ironfoot of the Iron Hills. I've seen you ride into the Blue Mountains on a boar before, like a force o' nature!  I'm Bofur son of Tofur, sir, at your service."

"Bofur," Dáin said. "I'm at your service as well. Now, I don't mean t'be rude, but could you--?"

Bofur blinked sluggishly. "Oh. OH. I'm being a bother, aren't I?"  he stood back up and wobbled a bit, clutching at his pint once again. "I'll...be over there. A pleasure once again, Lord Dáin!"

He stumbled away and Dáin turned to Thorin.

"Now, about what happened in there."

Another dwarf, younger and much less imbibed, stuck a plate right under Dáin's nose. He looked even younger than Kíli, with a sparse beard and young eyes set in an unlined, freckled face.

He also seemed as shaky as Mr. Baggins when he heard Dáin sigh heavily.

"Uh..Um," he said in a careful, quiet voice. "I'm sorry it's not much. Bifur set some aside, but we only thought Lord Thorin would be coming, and I thought you might want some too..."

"Thank you," said Dáin gratefully. "I appreciate it."

The young dwarf nodded once, and that's when Dáin noticed the Scribe Guild's sigil dangling from his left ear. He felt awful for making the poor lad worry, so he decided to chat.

"A Scribe, are you?" he asked, pointing with his fork. "Hard work, or so I'm told."

The young dwarf caught the emblem between two fingers, twisting it bashfully, "It's more fun than hard..

"What's your name, lad?"

The young dwarf blinked. "Ori, sir."

"First adventure, Ori?"

"Yes... But I'm more than ready to-"

"Ori, there you are!" a stern voice said, and a handsome, silver-haired dwarf came and stood behind the scribe with hands upon his hips.

"Come on then, don't crowd the poor gentleman when's he's just gotten off the road."

The older dwarf motioned to the end of the table and began to walk there himself. Ori flushed bright red, and offered Dáin a stiff, formal bow.

"Sorry, sir."

"Think nothing of it, lad. That your Da?"

"No. My brother. He's--"

"Ori!" his brother whispered fiercely from across the table.

"Coming, _nadad_. Coming!"

A hush had fallen over the table. Dáin wouldn't get the chance to speak to Thorin now, bugger it all.

The wizard cleared his throat, and came to stand behind Thorin. "Now that we've all arrived...I suppose you'd all like to know why you're here?"

"Ravens have been seen flying back and forth to the mountain as it was foretold," answered Óin. " _When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end._ It is finally time to reclaim our homeland!"

Mr. Baggins looked concerned, peeking out from behind Gandalf. "Uh, what beast?"

Bofur answered him with a grin, "Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chieftest and greatest of calamities of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals--"

"I _know_ what a dragon is." Mr. Baggins said, exacerbated.

"I'm not afraid!" Ori said suddenly, standing up. His face was flushed and his eyes wild with excitement. A stark difference from just a moment before. Dáin was impressed. " I'm up for it. I'll give him a taste of Dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!"

Everyone began to cheer, and Dori pulled him back with a look of horror. "Sit down!"

A calm voice spoke up in an attempt to bring business back to order, one that Dáin hadn't heard for too many years. "The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," said Balin. "But we number just fourteen, and not fourteen of the best, nor brightest."

"Who you callin' dim?" demanded another dwarf.

"What did he say?" Óin asked.

Fíli furrowed his brow. "We may be few in number, but we're fighters, all of us, to the last dwarf!"

"And you forget, we have a wizard in our company," Kíli added. " Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time."

 _He really is young._ Dáin snorted. "Bloody unlikely."

Gandalf licked his lips. "Oh, well, now, uh...I-I wouldn't say that, I--"

"How many, then?" Dori demanded, standing up even as Ori tugged on his sleeve. "If I'm to bring my brothers on this dangerous mission, I at least wish to know we're not woefully unprepared! How many?"

"Uh, what?"

Dori pursed his lips. "Well, how many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!"

Gandalf's lips moved, but no sound came out.

It became utter mayhem after that. Words and opinions flying around like axes and arrows on the battlefield. It just kept rising, louder and louder until....

 _"Atkât! "_ Thorin bellowed, and his voice cracked the chaos like a miner's pickaxe. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others seize what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance _to take back Erebor_? _Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!"_

The arguments turned to joyous agreement. Dáin took a slow breath, not cheering with the rest. He noticed that Balin didn't as well.

"You forget: the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain." murmured Balin.

Gandalf took his chance to regain favor, "That, my dear Balin is not entirely true. Come, take a look. Bilbo, my boy, fetch a lamp and let's have a little light on this!

On the table in the light of a big lamp was spread a piece of parchment rather like a map. They all crowded close around it, heads bumping into each other, until Gandalf shooed them off.

"That's old," Dáin heard Ori whisper. " _Very_ old. Looks like vellum; the fancy kind you could only get from Erebor."

"This was made by Thrór, your grandfather, Thorin," Gandalf said in answer to the dwarves' questions. "It is a plan of the Mountain."

 _So that's what he had. Another bloody map?_ Dáin frowned across the table at Thorin, who was too busy staring intensely at the yellowed parchment to see. That same quiet expression was settling over his features again. It made Dáin's heart ache.

"I don't see that this will help us much," said Thorin, disappointedly. "I remember the Mountain well enough and the lands about it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Hearth where the great dragons bred."

"There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain," said Balin, "but it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there."

"There is one point that you haven't noticed," said the wizard, "and that is the secret entrance." He tapped a finger on a small, red hourglass shape near the base of the mountain. "You see the rune on the West side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls."

"It may have been secret once," responded Dáin, "but how do we know that it's a secret any longer? That glorified lizard has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves.

"He may--but he can't have used it for years and years."

Dáin caught the wizard's eye, "Why?" he asked skeptically.

"Because it is too small," answered Gandalf curtly. " _'Five feet high the door and three may walk abreast'_ say the runes, but Smaug could not creep into a hole that size, not even when he was a young dragon, certainly not after devouring so many of the dwarves and men of Dale."

 _That was a cruel shot._ Dáin sat back and noticed the way the eldest members of the Company sagged at the mention of their dead-- Balin with a tight lipped frown, and Thorin with a blank look. _Sodding wizard._

"It seems a great big hole to me," squeaked Mr. Baggins, who stood close beside Thorin. Dáin caught Thorin glancing sidelong at him as the Halfling leaned over the table and in front of the dwarf. "How could such a large door be kept secret from everybody outside, apart from the dragon?" he asked excitedly.

"In lots of ways," answered Gandalf (in a much kinder voice than he had to Dáin's question). "But in what way this one has been hidden we don't know without going to see. From what it says on the map I should guess there is a closed door which has been made to look exactly like the side of the Mountain. That is the usual dwarves' method-- I think that is right, isn't it?"

"Quite right," said Thorin tersely.

"Also," went on Gandalf in cautious voice. "I forgot to mention that with the map went a key, a small and curious key. Here it is," he said, and pulled from his sleeve a long barrel with intricate wards, made of silver.

 _Clever bugger!_ _Waiting till now to show us something like that._ Dáin thought.

"How came you by this?" Thorin murmured, with a reverential look at the dwarven key.

"It was given me by your father, Thráin. For safekeeping. It is yours now. Keep it safe!"

"Indeed I will," said Thorin, and held it fast in his fist. "Now things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters much for the better. So far we have had no clear idea what to do. We thought of going East, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake. After that the trouble would begin--"

"A long time before that, if I know anything about the roads East," interrupted Gandalf.

"We might hire a barge across the Long Lake," went on Thorin, taking no notice, much to Dáin's discreet glee, "and so to the ruins of Dale, then to Erebor itself!"

Gandalf nodded, looking over at Mr. Baggins who was still focused on the map, "That is why I settled on _burglary_ \--especially when I remembered the existence of a Side-door. And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, _the_ Burglar, the chosen and selected Burglar. So now let's get on and make some plans."

Dáin didn't think it was possible for the grey wizard to ever play favourites, but here he was waxing sentimental over Mr. Baggins. It made Dáin rather curious about the Halfling.

"Very well then," said Thorin. "Balin, give him the contract." He smiled with mock-politeness at Mr. Baggins, who looked up wide-eyed at the dwarf. It seemed the poor lad hadn't realized how much he'd pushed himself in front of Thorin to take a gander at the map. The two were near flush with each other, and he began babbling apologies as he skittered out of the way--

\--and right into Balin. Dáin could hardly recognize him, now that he could get a good look. He looked so old now; a true and proper greybeard.

"It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

Mr. Baggins blanched. "Funeral arrangements?"

Mr. Baggins stepped back a few paces and scanned the contract. It unfolded all the way down to the floor. "Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if  any...Hm, seems fair. Eh, present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to...lacerations...evisceration.... _incineration_?"

Bofur nodded, "Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye."

Mr. Baggins became white as a sheet.

"You all right there, laddie?" asked Dáin.

"Um..bit faint." Mr. Baggins mumbled, doubling over.

"Think furnace with wings." Bofur continued.

"Air, I-I-I need air."

"Oh no."

"Flash of light, searing pain, then POOF! you're nothing more than a pile of ash."

Mr. Baggins took a deep, heavy breath. He caught Dáin's eyes.

"Nope." he said and toppled over.

 

Gandalf was the one who helped Mr. Baggins up and into the parlour after his fainting spell.  The two stayed in there for a long while, until Gandalf came out alone with a frustrated look on his face. He said that Bilbo would need some time to mull things over, and it was best that he should be left alone.

Dáin refrained from making a comment, though he sorely wished he had.

 

He found Mr. Baggins again in the kitchen standing awkwardly before Glóin, and another dwarf with a fanciful hairstyle that stuck out from his head in three different directions. Mr. Baggins looked as if he was ready tear him in twain.

“I don’t see what I did wrong!” said the dwarf. “You’re a thief yourself, ain’t you?”

Mr. Baggins scowled. “I am not a thief. I haven’t stolen a single thing in my entire life! Now, give it back or I’ll…I’ll call the Shirriffs here this instant!”

Glóin took a patient breath, clearly the unfortunate moderator of the situation.“Ach, just give him back  his bloody rag already, Nori.”

The thief rolled his eyes skyward before tossing a crumbled kerchief with holes to Mr. Baggins. The Halfling caught it and smoothed it out on his shirtfront as best he could.

“Weren’t worth much anyway,” Nori muttered under his breath. “Full o’ holes.”

Mr. Baggins fumed, that same indignant look he’d had with Thorin forcing itself forward again. “It’s a _doily_ , not a _rag_. And it’s supposed have holes, it _crochet!”_

“Golf’s better,” mumbled Glóin as he tipped a glass to his lips.

Mr. Baggins began to fold it closed and tucked it into his pocket, talking loudly to himself. “Good gracious, and it _is_ worth something. My own father made the set with silk from Long Cleave!”

Nori leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head and boots on the tabletop.

“You mean you didn’t even steal 'em?” asked Nori, aghast.

“As I said before, I am not a Burglar!

“That’s not what the mark on your door says,” Nori answered snidely.

“Mark? What mark?” Mr. Baggins demanded.

Dáin decided to intervene then, before their host toppled over from shock. Glóin greeted him with a grateful lift of his mug; Mr.  Baggins didn’t even look at him.

“A thief testing out another thief, eh? That’s a rare sight.” said Dáin.

Nori’s face broke into a swaggering smile. “A dwarf from the Iron Hills! Now _that’s_ a rare sight round here. M'name is Nori, your lordship, not _'thief’._ ”

“An’ I’m Dáin, not _'your lordship’_ ,” countered Dáin, placing his hands on the small table between them as he leaned forward. Nori’s braided eyebrows rose up in challenge.

“Give him a break,” Dáin said. “It was no insult against you that he was chosen as Burglar.”

“I’m just testing his mettle is all!” Nori retorted innocently. “He is THE  Burglar. That’s what the bloody Wizard said–”

“A mark?” Mr. Baggins demanded again, louder.

Snorting, Nori turned from Dáin to show off his knowledge once again, when another voice cut him off.

“The usual one in the trade, or used to be,” Glóin explained. “ _Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward_ , that’s how it is usually read. Ya can say _Expert Treasure-hunter_   instead of _Burglar_ if ya like. Some of them do. It’s all the same to us.”

Beside him, Nori scoffed, “And how do you  know that, Mister Glóin?” he asked. “What with you bein’ a respectable merchant and all that?”

The older dwarf clicked his tongue, “Money is my business, laddie. Don’t ya think I’d keep my eye on those that would like to make off with it?” With that, he finished off  his pint in one long gulp. When he was done, he balanced the glass on the armrest of his seat and stood up with a huff.

“M'off to find the loo,” he said with finality. “Be respectful. An’ get your feet off that table.”

Nori watched Glóin like a hawk as he ambled down the hall. He looked over at Dáin, curiosity etched deep into his sharp features and animosity gone.

“I don’t bloody believe it,” he laughed, and pulled his feet down.

Mr. Baggins, with a deep frown, left the room without another word to either of them.

 

Balin greeted him with a slight, pleased smile and a momentary widening of his eyes. His beard and hair, a smoke-like grey the last time Dáin had seen him, were now snow-bright. Across from him stood Thorin.

"Lord Dáin, it's good to see you," said Balin, grasping Dáin's forearm with a hard Warrior's grip. "Better than good. I did not think the Iron Hills would aide us! I'm relieved to be proven wrong."

Dáin smiled back. "Not gonna ask about an army, then?"

Balin shook his, and sat on a chest in the hall with a grunt, "No. If you'd indeed brought one, we'd have known already. Would do us no good to worry over it now. We've more pressing matters to attend to."

"Aye," said Thorin, his eyes still looking down the hall where their Burglar had disappeared.

"It appears we have lost our Burglar. Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners...Tinkers, toymakers...," Balin chuckled. "Hardly the stuff of legend."

Dáin shifted in his seat. "There are a few warriors amongst us."

" _Old_ warriors," said Balin with a bitter smirk. "We'd have had a passable chance with an army at our heels, but that does not appear forthcoming..."

"I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills," replied Thorin fiercely. "For when I called upon them, they answered. Dáin left his home and family for us, as did Bofur and Bombur, Óin and Glóin. All of us, even I." he paused a beat, bright blue eyes glistening in the wane light like twin chips of glass. "Loyalty, honour, a willing heart. I can ask no more than that."

Dáin felt a twist deep in his gut. He caught Balin's eye and the old dwarf nodded.

"You don't have t'do this. You have a choice, you know," said Dáin.

"Aye," continued Balin softly. "You have done honourably by our people, Thorin. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace and plenty."

"A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor," whispered Dáin.

Thorin looked at them both, and before their eyes a grim determination settled over him. Dáin doubted even his best words could sway his cousin now.

"From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me," he said, and held up the key he'd been given. "They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Dáin. Not for me."

The three sat in silence, Dáin unable to meet Thorin's eyes, while Balin could do nothing but stare at his cousin. After a few moments, the old warrior opened his mouth.

"Then we are with you, laddie. We will see it done."

 

It didn't seem their Burglar would come out anytime soon. After waiting in the hall for what seemed too long, Dáin, Balin, and Thorin made their way into the parlour. The rest of the Company sat smoking and chatting around the room, with a glowering Gandalf seated a ways away.

Glóin approached their little group, clicking a small locket shut before he spoke.

"Perhaps Gandalf _was_ wrong," he murmured, with more than a bit of disappointment. "Master Baggins has yet to sign the contract."

"He must have been," Thorin said aloud, with no regard for the silent wizard sitting near him. "Put a mark on the wrong door, beguiled a fretful grocer with tales of gold."

"What are we t'do? We need a Burglar or this is all for naught."

"Indeed we do. But Master Baggins is far from a worthy Burglar, and I will not have his inexperience hinder us."

Dáin heard a soft click at the parlour door, and in walked Mr. Baggins with a purpose.

Mr. Baggins cleared his throat, "Pardon me," he said, and everyone turned to look at him, "But I couldn't help overhearing you. I...I don't pretend to understand what you are talking about, or your reference to Burglars, but I think I am right in believing that- that you think I'm no good," he glared up defiantly at Thorin, only balking slightly when the dwarf cocked his head to the side.

Beside Dáin, Balin let out a impressed little breath. It wasn't often anyone stood up to Thorin like that...unless they were family.

"I will show you," Mr. Baggins continued adamantly. "I have no signs on my door--it was painted a week ago--, and I am quite sure you have come to the wrong house. As soon as I saw your funny faces on the door-step, I had my doubts. But," the little fellow was really getting worked up now, round face blushing brightly and fists clenching at his sides. "Treat it as the _right one_. Tell me what you want done, and I will try it, if I have to walk from here to the East of East and fight the wild Were-Worms in the Last Desert. I had a great-great-great-grand uncle once, Bullroarer Took, you know, and--"

"That was long ago," said Thorin, arms crossed as he looked down at Mr. Baggins, voice cold. "I was talking about _you_. And I assure you there is a mark on that door. Gandalf told us that there was a man of the burgling sort in these parts looking for a Job at once, and that he had arranged for a meeting. He must have been quite mistaken-"

But before Thorin could finish, the air suddenly began to grow sinister and cold. Both he and Mr. Baggins looked up toward Gandalf, and suddenly the wizard looked twice as tall.

"Of course there is a mark," thundered Gandalf. "I put it there myself. For good reasons. You asked me to find the fourteenth man for your expedition--" At that he sent a particularly long, blameful look at Dáin, who pretended not to notice-- "And I chose Mr. Baggins. Just let anyone say I chose the wrong man or the wrong house, and you can stop at thirteen and have all the bad luck you like, or **_go back to digging coal_**."

"But what about Dái-" Mr. Baggins began, but Gandalf frowned at him and stuck out his big bushy eyebrows, till Mr. Baggins shut his mouth tight with a snap.

"That's right," said Gandalf. "Let's have no more argument. If I say he is a Burglar, a Burglar he is, or will be when the time comes. There is a lot more in him than you guess, and a deal more than he has any idea of himself. You may all live to thank me yet."

"Until he gets himself killed."

Everyone stopped, turning to Dáin. The dwarf shrugged at their expressions.

"Oh, was this something none of us knew about? You read the contract yourself, lad. You know what this entails," he continued, looking at Mr. Baggins. "An' though you're brave an' full of fire, you don't know the first thing about where we're heading, save what you've read in books. The assumption that you do will get you killed long before we see the peak of the Lonely Mountain. Has Master Gandalf even prepared you for that, or just filled your head with grand notions of adventure?  Thorin at least worries about your wellbeing. Which brings me to you."

Thorin's mouth was thin line as Dáin rounded on him.

"Stop bein' such a bloody obstinate bastard an' give him a chance. I know you want to, why else would you keep on poking an' prodding at his resolve like that? Either give him the benefit of the doubt, or tell him he can't go. He's not what any of us expected, but t'keep putting him down like that helps no one. D'you want to take back Erebor or don't you? Then swallow your damn pride an' accept that this is what we have."

Everyone stood quiet as the words sank in, the unpleasant silence broken only by the sound of swallowing and fidgeting.

Mr. Baggins looked from Dáin to Gandalf and finally to Thorin. His eyes lingered longest on him before he mumbled a quick bit of polite jargon, and stumbled out the way he'd come.

_Bugger. I just made it worse, didn't I? Bloody brilliant._

Thorin cocked an eyebrow at him as the rest of the room filled with noise once again.

"Well, _that_ certainly could've gone better." he said,  mimicking Dáin's Eastern burr.

"Ach, bite me, Oakenshield. You know it had t'be said."

Thorin shook his head, the shadow of a smile pulling at his lips. "I won't say it didn't, and I do appreciate it, as I always do your blunt wisdom, cousin. But it doesn't change the fact that he is woefully unprepared for this, and I won't have any of our kin dying because of him."

"Or him dying because of you, aye?"

Thorin nodded, eyes falling closed. "Aye, that too."

 

In the flickering light of the fireplace, Gandalf stood out amongst the dwarves like the moon in a starless sky. His looked as if he wished to stay there and argue some point or another with Thorin, but when the song began he respectfully stood up and walked just outside the doorway. Dáin found himself doing much the same.

It started with Bombur, the shy architect who hadn't said a word to either Dáin or Thorin since they'd arrived. He'd sat down in an unassuming part of the room, and  held a goblet drum steady under one arm as he struck the top with the meat of his palm. It echoed like a distant thunderclap in the small parlour room, instantly quieting all chatter. As his fingertips played out an age old rhythm, he began to hum.

Near the back, with his ear horn laid out flat upon the table, Óin sat watching with hooded eyes. He'd shucked off his boots, and his stockinged feet were flat upon the floor. With each deep boom of Bombur's drum, the healer took a breath. He could feel the vibrations, no doubt, and was swept up in the song with all the rest.

Sitting beside him, Glóin had produced a small wooden case from his rucksack. From it he pulled a small, silver harmonica. The tiny instrument all but disappeared in the great forest of his beard, but the tinny and rough edge it added to the song was not to be ignored.

After a time, Dori pulled out a wooden flute, modest compared to the rest of him. A longer one, also wooden and open like a bell at the bottom, he handed to Ori. They both began to play in tandem with Glóin, the breezy and pure notes mixing in with his.

A higher sound than all the rest pierced through the music with a single note, long and sweet and mournful. It was Nori, playing on a tiny pipe that looked suspiciously like Dori's. Dáin noticed how the silver-haired dwarf glanced up with surprise at the sound, and smiled a tiny a smile.

The music continued, with each dwarf adding in an instrument or a hum of his own.

Thorin, leaning against the mantle, blew a cloud of blue smoke and began to sing in deep, somber tones:

 

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To seek the pale enchanted gold._

Dáin only listened for a moment, then pushed himself up and made his way down the hall after Mr. Baggins. The music seemed to follow him.

 

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_

_While hammers fell like ringing bells_

_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_

_In hollow halls beneath the fells._

 

He stopped outside an open door, and leaned on the door-jamb. "Care if I join you?"

Mr. Baggins sat in what must have been his bedroom at the edge of his bed. It was obvious he'd been listening to the singing, so he looked rather startled when he noticed Dáin.

"Er...sure. Please," he patted the space next to him.

Dáin sunk down beside Mr. Baggins,  who was twiddling a box of pipeweed in his hands, "Bilbo, you were a fool," he murmured. "You walked right in and put your foot in it."

From deep within his own pocket, Dáin produced a pipe of fine dwarven-make. It was rather unlike Mr. Baggins’ long wooden one on the nightstand, being instead stout and made of beaten copper, and inlaid with the blunt and beautiful designs of his people.

He tapped a pinch of Mr. Baggins' offered pipeweed into the bowl, lit the bottom, sucked on the stem for a moment or two, and blew out a steady stream of smoke like a chimney. He sighed in content, and Mr. Baggins looked away.

Dáin studied him silently, then pointed the stem of his pipe at Mr. Baggins' chest, "You're not quite so prosy as you like t'pretend, I think," he said with the knowing smile of someone who knew well what it meant to pretend. "An' not quite as frail as Thorin assumes. For once, I believe myself inclined to agree with Master Gandalf."

"Dear me!" growled the Halfling. "Are all dwarves as judgmental as you? I know who I am and I am who I am, thank you very much."

"I'm not judging you, lad," Dáin said. "I just wanted you t'know I think I'll believe in you, if you decide to go on this quest."

Mr. Baggins crinkled his nose like a rabbit, "So you didn't come to apologize for what you said in my parlour?"

"No, I didn't. Nothing I said was wrong. Painful, perhaps, but not half as painful as an Orcish scimitar to the gut."

Mr. Baggins gulped and nodded, "Pig-headed, aren't you?"

"More than you know!" Dáin guffawed.

The music swelled once again, and they both paused to listen:

 

  _Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To claim our long-forgotten gold._

 

_Goblets they carved there for themselves_

_And harps of gold; where no man delves_

_There lay they long, and many a song_

_Was sung unheard by men or elves._

 

"Why aren't you joining in?" Mr. Baggins asked.

Dáin chewed on the stem of his pipe, and looked down at the Halfling. Mr. Baggins fidgeted under his gaze, like he assumed Dáin was about to offer him a wry jab or the like. Give him yet another reason not to trust them.

[Dáin and Bilbo Talk by chess-ka](http://chess-ka.tumblr.com/post/128590336086/why-arent-you-joining-in-mr-baggins-asked)

He seemed surprised when Dáin simply shrugged.

"Not my place," he said softly. "I already have a home, an' it don't sit right with me to sing about another."

Mr. Baggins mumbled what sounded like an oh, and looked around the room. Clearly uncomfortable.

"Then why _are_ you here, then?" he demanded. "If you think it's such a terrible idea, and you don't even care about the place, why even bother? Is it the gold? Are you like Nori or Bombur or Bofur, come to seek your fortune?"

Dáin grinned, and laughed. So hard tears prickled his eyes.

"Ach, lad! Gold has never swayed me like that. I care little for it. As I see it, its shine will never be as bright as the river near my home, nor as warm as my wife's arms, or as precious as me wee boy. Family, you see," he said. "That's what matters. _That's_ why I'm here."

"Family?"

"Ah, right," Dáin knuckled his forehead. "You wouldn't know, wouldja? Thorin is my cousin, his nephews as well. As are Óin and Glóin, Dwalin and Balin...Hmph, I'm damn near related to all of them, one way or another."

Mr. Baggins smiled. "Sounds like a family of hobbits."

"Ah, see? Think of us like your family. Maybe you'll learn to like us all yet."

"I never said I liked the family I have now," responded Mr. Baggins.

 

_The pines were roaring on the height,_

_The winds were moaning in the night._

_The fire was red, it flaming spread;_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

Mr. Baggins pulled the halves of his dressing gown tighter together.

"Do you..."he began, then paused. "Do you really think I could die out there?"

"All of us could." said Dáin.

"But you said you believed in me anyway? You know I'm not a Burglar right?"

"Lad, I knew you weren't a Burglar the minute I stepped into your home," Dáin let the stem of his pipe droop in his lips. "But I believe you could be, an' I want to believe my cousin when he says he'll take back his home. Thorin has always had a knack for getting things done. The least I can do is be there beside him, for good or ill."

"You're asking me to go?" Mr. Baggins wondered. "For him?"

"I'm asking that you _think_ on it," answered Dáin."For all of us, Mr. Baggins"

"...Alright, I will. And, um, just call me Bilbo."

"Very well, Bilbo."

Dáin tapped his fingers idly upon his knee, lost deep in thought as his kin's song drew to a close. Sitting beside him on the bed, Bilbo's gaze kept wandering more and more toward the sound of the singers instead of the silent.

 

_Far over the misty mountains grim_

_To dungeons deep and caverns dim_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To win our harps and gold from him!_

Bilbo nearly didn't hear the words Dáin said then. It was a sparse amount  for the chatty dwarf-- as he would soon learn-- but they carried a heavy weight to them, and told much.

"I wonder if we'll truly win anything by the end of this."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Some lines taken from The Hobbit, Chapter One: "An Unexpected Party"  
> *Some lines taken from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Adventure  
> * _'adad_ = Khuzdul word for father  
> * _nadad_ = Khuzdul word for brother  
> * _Atkât_ = Khuzdul word for silence  
> * _Du Bekâr!_ = Khuzdul phrase meaning 'To arms!'  
> *For full disclosure, Ori is playing an instrument known as a shawm. Nori a piccolo. Both are part of the woodwind family ( I thought it would be a bit boring just to say all three of them played flutes!)  
> *Bombur 's goblet drum is based off an actual instrument, with about a billion different names.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite cameo appearances happens this chapter. You'll know who I mean.
> 
> Also, Dwarves. Hobbits. Canon thangs. _Shipping_. It's a fun time, broh.
> 
> (But to be serious, a surprisingly light-hearted chapter. This will, of course, change. I'm sorry.)
> 
> (I'm not.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of attention this fic has gotten has made me beyond happy, and very surprised. I can't even sit still. I even have FANART. W O W. I'd like to thank the lovely artists that provided those before this chapter starts (these are their Tumblr URLs): _fishfingerandscarves, lacefedora, courtugger, and chess-ka!_ All very talented individuals. Go give them some love if you get the time.. (And I am also on Tumblr if you ever get the urge to stop by and say Hey. Same username as this one!)
> 
> Now onto the chapter. Thank you for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, bookmarking, subscribing, and all that jazz. It really means a lot.
> 
> -poplitealqueen

They made a dreadful mess of Bilbo's kitchen.

It certainly couldn't be helped, Dáin decided.  Fourteen hungry dwarves and a wizard were bound to make a muddle. That didn't surprise him.

The fact that Bilbo, who'd been nervous and attentive even after he'd asked Dáin in that nail-bitingly polite way of hobbits to please leave his bedroom, slept through it all definitely did.

Bombur had already begun an especially grand breakfast for them, wide-eyed and bustling about with pans filled with all manner of things by the time the rest of them ambled in.

The only one to match his fervor was Dori, who was trotting about balancing steaming cups and small plates all down his arms, and offering them to anyone he saw.

Bombur tipped sausages still sizzling in the pan onto Dáin's plate when he first sat down,  adding toast, eggs, and bacon along with it

"G'mornin' to you too," Dáin yawned, his jaw cracking. Beside him, Fíli was braiding his mustache with a corner of toast between his teeth. He grunted in greeting at Dáin. Kili was too busy shoveling food down his gullet to do more than look up and wave his fork in hello.

Dwalin came in next, complaining loudly about a crick in his neck and demanding why the bloody hell hobbit beds were built so damned small.

"I liked it well enough," responded  Nori as he walked in behind the towering dwarf. He was fresh-faced and already had his hair in impeccable order. Seemed he and Dori really _were_ brothers. He sat down and sipped at a teacup Dori handed him.

"That's because you 're too wee for a dwarf," mumbled Dwalin, grabbing Nori's cup to gulp the rest down. "More a mouse."

" _Mouse?_ Comin' from the auroch," mumbled Nori, smiling as he 'accidently' pushed Dwalin's chair a little too far to the right as he sat down.

"That's enough of that!" growled Balin in a low, gravelly voice from across the room. He was definitely _not_ an early dwarf, if the dark crescents under his eyes and mussed hair were any sign. He sounded more like his brother than Dáin had ever heard when he added, "If this is how you all plan to behave every sodding morning, kindly drop me off at Ered Luin on your way East!"

Dori clicked his tongue at the other silver-haired dwarf. "Balin, Balin, Balin, my dear, eat something."  He placed a jam-covered biscuit gently in Balin's hands and glided off again.

Thorin woke up last, and though he came in already fully dressed he could barely open his eyes.

"G'mornin', _ibrizinlêkh_ ," Dáin said, smiling, "You're nearly in time for lunch."

Thorin blinked sluggishly at him as Bombur quickly placed a plate in front of him and Dori a cup of tea. Thorin looked at them both a moment as if deciding what they were.

He slumped into the seat beside Dáin. "Comfortable place. I have not slept that well in decades."

Dáin's eyebrows rose. "Thorin Oakenshield, _comfortable?_ An' I'll be a troll's brother."

"You certainly smell the part."

"Well, now. You're more awake than you look, eh?"

They chuckled sleepily at each other as Dwalin cleared his throat.

"Thorin, we'd best be getting on our way soon."

"What of Bilbo?" asked Dáin.

Thorin cocked an eyebrow at him, as if asking, _You're calling him Bilbo now?._

"He hasn't awoken yet," Thorin continued. "I passed by his quarters on my way here."

"And he never signed the contract neither," piped Ori, unfurlimg the contract before Thorin with a slight, nervous wilt to his words. He seemed to have snuck in without any of them noticing, and, much like his brothers, looked as if he'd already been awake for hours. "Should I write out a note for him?"

Dáin knew he felt a twinge of disappointment when he heard that Bilbo had yet to sign the contract, but he was surprised to see the same frown on his cousin's face, too.

"Seems his words were just that," Thorin murmured.

"One moment, Master Oakenshield."

The wizard had remained blessedly quiet until that moment, standing near the little round window with a tea cup in hand.  A shame it didn't stay that way, Dáin thought sourly.

"You all worked the poor fellow to the bone last night!" Gandalf said adamantly. "Let him have his rest."

"My mount _is_ still stabled at that tavern, Thorin," added Dáin.

"And we _still_ need to collect our ponies, too," continued Balin bullishly. "We can spare a few bloody hours at least, I'm sure."

Dwalin snorted. "Sounds like a damned waste of time."

Thorin had his arms folded on the edge of the kitchen table. "Very well," he nodded at Ori and straightened up.  "Give him until an hour before noon, but no later. Once we have our mounts in order, we will leave. With _or_ without him."

"Fair enough," Dáin consented. "Though... there _is_ the possibility he'll get lost."

"Unlikely," Thorin answered, nabbing Dáin's fork to begin eating his own breakfast. "He isn't of the Line of Durin."

*** 

Dáin had no extra supplies to speak of as they prepared to leave. To say he'd packed lightly for the trip would have been an understatement. So it was that he found himself unanimously nominated to find places for everyone else's superfluous baubles. It was a cruel world indeed.

Bombur had a pinched look on his moony face as Dáin entered the parlour.  He was arranging his drum carefully in the corner of the room, covering it with a sheet he must have found in one of Bilbo's cupboards.

This was as much a farewell as it was a beginning. Bombur's drum was bulky and burdensome, making it foolish to take it on the quest with them.

Dáin walked up beside him, leaning Ori's shawm against the wall and placing Dori's flute on the mantle. Bombur had a far off look in his brown eyes.

"That breakfast of yours was delicious, " said Dáin, attempting to break the awkward silence.

"Thank you," answered Bombur.

Dáin cleared his throat, placing some of Fíli and Dwalin's larger weapons on one of the chairs. Mahal's stockings and socks, those two had a near arsenal between them!

"It's a shame you can't bring that with you," he added, cocking his chin at the covered instrument. "Certainly would have made camp a mite more interestin'."

Bombur nodded dejectedly. "My _'amad_ made that for me before she passed, you know," he said softly. "I've always taken it with me everywhere I go."

He wanted assurance, and that much Dáin could provide. "You'll be back t'collect it before you even realise you miss it," he said. "An' nothing ill could befall it in a place like this." He smiled at the other dwarf. "Your _'amad_ wouldn't mind a smidgen of dust, aye?"

Bombur smiled back, not as carefree as his brother's, but certainly just as genuine, "No, no she wouldn't," he answered. "Thank you, Lord Dáin."

 ***

The Green Dragon was less a tavern and more a proper inn stretching several buildings long, and located right at the river's edge. It seemed a rather nice place to Dáin. He wondered why they hadn't simply stayed there during the night, but one glance at Gandalf told him the exact reasoning behind that.

When the wizard in question suddenly broke off from the group as they neared the inn's entrance, Thorin was the first to voice concern.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Gandalf tapped the bottom of his staff impatiently upon the dirt path. "To make sure our Burglar finds your note. I shan't be long."

"You really can't help butting into folk's lives, can you?" Dáin asked.

"And who was it that invited _you_ to this undertaking, Lord Dáin?" Gandalf asked with a raised eyebrow

"Me." Thorin answered imperiously.

The wizard didn't so much as bat an eyelash at Thorin's authoritative tone, though he did nod once. "I shan't be long," he repeated, and set off back the way they'd come.

"We shouldn't antagonize him like that," Thorin said once the point of Gandalf's hat had disappeared over the crest of a hill and they made their way inside the Green Dragon. "It could prove troublesome."

"Right," Dáin said, as his foot thumped loudly onto wooden floor paneling. "Because he's not troublesome in the slightest already. I only wish he'd come out an' say what he wants. All this double meaning an' sly wording, it's enough t'make anyone distrust him."

As the lot of them crowded into the inn's main room--a cozy tavern that was all but empty at that time of day--the barkeep rushed to meet them.

"Good mornin', sirs," he said quickly, and then with a hasty bow "Drinks this early? Well--"

Thorin stepped up to him, and the halfling stopped mid-sentence to simply _stare._

"We're here for the ponies we purchased," he said, accepting the writ of sale from Balin and handing it to the barkeep. "Fourteen, each properly outfitted for a long trip."

The lad's lips opened and closed silently for a few moments, then he blinked and cleared his throat, "R-Right, yessir," he said. "They'll be in the north stable. If you'll wait on the side I can fetch 'em an--"

Thorin shook his head, "We'll accompany you."

"Oh." The halfling blushed, the freckles on his cheeks standing out like stars. "O-kay, sirs. Right this way!"

Dáin snickered, "Someone has an admirer." Thorin only glowered.

The barkeep led them through the back of the inn to a stable near full with whickering ponies. He led them out two at a time, taking special care to tell the company the name of each and every one.

He dusted off his trousers when he was finished. "If that's all then, I can show you where we keep the saddles and the like."

Dáin was the one to step up to him this time, though he wasn't given half as reverential a look as Thorin had been.

"Lad, I left a pig here yesterday as well," he said.

He looked up at Dáin quizzically. "A pig?"

Dáin nodded, "Aye, she's not hard t'miss. She's a _big_ girl."

Realization dawned in the boy's eyes, "Ah! _That_ pig! She's in the southern stable, Master Dwarf. She weren't much for getting along with the other animals."

"Can you take me there?"

The young barkeep blanched, digging a toe into the dirt. "Well, she didn't much like _us_ either, and she's terrible big..."

Dáin waved him away with a soft chuckle,

"Very well. I can collect her myself. Thank you, lad."

He made his way alone toward the other stable, the larger of the two and located closest to the road. He paused when he heard a voice drift toward him from inside, soft and soothing.

"O poor dear. Shh _shh_. There, now. So called _gentle_ hobbits torturing such a lovely creature-- repulsive. I'll beat them all into the earth before they bother you twice!"

_Torturing?_

Dáin listened intently,  stepping as softly as his iron leg would allow.

He stopped just outside the entryway, and what he saw was quite the unusual sight.

It was a female halfling, or what appeared to be one, with enough garish color in her outfit to rival any Orocarni merchant Dáin had ever met. Her hair was dark, curly, and wild---completely at odds with her stiff appearance--and stuffed under the strangest hat Dáin had ever seen. It was claret-colored, and covered with _candles._

[Dáin Discovers Lobelia by lacefedora](http://lacefedora.tumblr.com/post/129324356006/completed-commissionscene-illustration-for)

She stood small next to his towering sow, feeding it truffles from her hand as she leaned on a closed parasol.

Dáin smiled at that, and walked towards them.

"'Scuse me, lass, but who--"

**WHAP!**

She moved so fast that he didn't have any time to react. The tip of her parasol hit him good and hard right on the cheek, and Dáin staggered back, blinking rapidly.

 _"Khoh!"_ He gasped in surprise."What was that for?!"

The woman leveled him with a stark stare, jabbing her parasol at his chest like a lance.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Dáin rubbed at his face, "The owner of that pig." he said, only a little tetchy. "Why are you--"

She thumped him again, right on the forehead. _Now_ this was getting bothersome.

"It'll take more'n a halfling with a frilly umbrella to hurt me there, now will you stop smacking me an' listen?!" he growled (a diplomatic growl, at least).

She thumped him a third time.

"I am not _half_ of anything, you thug!" she snapped at him. "I am a hobbitess, and I expect to be called as such. Even by vulgar, hairy beasts like you."

Dáin schooled his features into something resembling regret and inclined his head at the hobbitess.

"Apologies, lassie."

"Do _not_ call me lassie. I am not your lass in any way, shape, or form. Understood?" she responded huffily.

Dáin cleared his throat, "Apologies, uh...ma'am?"

"That's better," she took a deep breath and straightened the hem of her bodice. " You should not sneak up on someone, looking the way you do. It would frighten the hair off anyone's toes. Now. This is your sow, you said?"

"Aye."

The hobbitess gave the sow a fond look, "She is magnificent, but the farmhands employed here know nothing, least of all how to properly care for pigs. They were attempting to feed her _raw_ potatoes,  I'll have you know. The dolts! Luckily I saw from the road, and I kindly got rid of them for you."

 _I suppose I should be grateful._ Dáin stepped cautiously to stand next her. "Thank you," he said.

"I would like to purchase her." she answered, not even bothering to acknowledge his thanks.

"Er," Dáin glanced warily at the umbrella still clutched in the woman's hand. "She's not for sale."

He heard a snort of disgust, "To think such a beautiful animal is forced to live in the care of such a...a brute! Very well, I'll go double whatever you wish."

"I said she isn't for sale."

"Rubbish. Come now, all dwarves love good coin."

 _Mahal's forges,_ Dáin thought, they should just take her with them to Erebor! She could argue the path to the secret door open.

" _Loooobelia!_ " A male voice suddenly called out from nearby. The hobbitess immediately went rigid, knuckles white around her umbrella as her eyes darted from Dáin's pig to the mud caked on her feet and skirts. " _Lobelia_ , my dearest, where are-"

"COMING."

The shout made both dwarf and pig jump. How could such a diminutive thing make such a bloody racket?! With one last gentle pat on the sow's dark snout and a glare fierce enough to crack mithril at Dáin, she left in a swish of skirts.

***

 The morning was uneventful from there. There wasn't much left to do but wait nearby for Bilbo to make his way to them. As the sun rose higher into the sky, and the young barkeep had to stop his ogling of Thorin to tend to his actual duties, they simply continued to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

It was only when Gandalf's pointed hat appeared down the road that they perked up, but the wizard was alone, and brooding worse than Thorin.

"It's noon now," he said matter-of-factly, not even bothering to stop his brisk pace.

Thorin and Dáin shared a glance, and Thorin's shoulders rose and dropped a fraction.

"We're off then," he said. "Let's make up for lost time."

*** 

 The bright green hillocks of the Shire disappeared soon enough once they entered the woodland bordering them. Even that place had a gentle air to it, with trees that let the sunshine shine through their leaves, birds twittering in their branches, and soft grass growing beneath them.

They rode in one long column, most of the Company clustered near the back around Nori. The thief was smiling mischievously at Bofur.

"C'mon now! I know you fancy a good wager, _bâhamê_."

Bofur chewed on his bottom lip then said, "Oh alright. A copper that he'll show up."

Nori grinned. "Very good, Bof! Sweetens the pot a bit, that does. How's about you, Mister Glóin?"

"For?"

"Just a wee bet on if _The_ Burglar will show his arse or not. Hm?" he jingled the bag.

The fire-haired dwarf shook his head, "Not on your life, laddie! I'm not about to gamble away what little I've brought with me on something as foolish as that."

"Ah, fine," Nori clicked his tongue. "Óin?"

The healer thought a moment, then pulled out a silver tucked between his various medicinal sachets. "I'll put my lot in with Mister Bofur."

Bofur whooped.

They went on. Bombur voted that Bilbo would show as well.

"I don't have anything to bet with I'm afraid," the large dwarf said with a small incline of his head. "Everything I had I left with Yrsa and our young ones."

Nori pulled his mouth tight, reaching for his own coin purse to spot the other dwarf when a loud harrumph could be heard. A small purse filled with silvers landed in the thief's saddle.

Glóin made a face. "Ten silvers," he said. "For Bombur's bet."

Bombur gawked at the sum, then beamed, bowing his head once again. "Thank you, Master Glóin, I'm humbled by your generosity." he murmured.

Glóin scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "Ach, think nothing of it," he said. "I know how much children can cost, an' ya have thirteen of them! Let's just hope ya bet right."

"Soon t'be fourteen _,_ right, _halwmurn?_ " Bofur said, and winked at his brother.

Bifur tossed a tiny wooden figurine he'd whittled in exquisite detail the night before at Nori when he asked, and quickly signed 'yes' with one fist bouncing up and down at the wrist and his disheveled head nodding vigorously. His old wound seemed to be bothering him, and he continued to keep his pony close to Ori's without saying a word to anyone else.

The youngest child of Ari also agreed that Bilbo would show.

"Mister Baggins likes books an' maps," he explained, one hand surreptitiously catching Bifur's where he seemed to think no one could see. "Same as me. If I can go on this quest, then so can he."

Dori shook his immaculately braided head. "Not a chance," he said and plucked two coppers from a pristine purse. "And Ori--"

Nori scoffed. "Oh, cluck cluck cluck, you're being a mother hen again, Dori. Leave him be and hand me your bet already! It's the first right-minded one." he added in a whisper.

Ori gave him a thankful look, and Nori smirked at his little brother. Dori rolled his eyes.

Fíli and Kíli both agreed that he would show, optimistic even in their teasing.

"Mr. Boggins probably just overslept," said Kili. "That or stayed behind to make himself breakfast!"

Fíli giggled along with him, "Perhaps he fainted at the market buying eggs. I hope he knows where to find us."

"Definitely not," Dwalin added with a silver piece.

Balin gave his purse a studious look before deciding. "Hm, why not. May as well hope for the best," he said, and handed Nori two silver pieces. " _Yes_."

Nori trotted up to where Dáin, Thorin, and Gandalf rode next.

"M'lords?" he asked, jingling the heavy coin purse before them.

Thorin flipped a single gold coin toward him. "No," was all he said, and rode ahead.

Gandalf and Dáin both agreed yes, and gave each other a look as they handed Nori their coin.

Time passed, and they found themselves moving deeper and deeper into the wood. They were moving at a snail's pace still, in the waning hope that Bilbo would find them. But as time wore on, it seemed that was becoming less and less likely.

Dáin listened as the group began to talk more behind him.

"Didn't I say it?" he heard Dwalin snarl. "Waste of time."

"That's true enough!" Óin said. "Ach, waste of coin, too."

" _Use a hobbit._ Whose idea was it anyway?" asked Nori with a shake of his head.

Then a shrill voiced sounded in the distance.

 _"_ Wait! _Wait!"_

They all halted as one with a gesture from Thorin, and over a grassy bend appeared a frazzled, out-of-breath Bilbo. When he noticed that they'd halted, he slowed his pace and approached Balin's white mare carefully.

"I signed it." he said proudly.

Balin lifted an eyebrow at the hobbit as he took the folded up parchment (covered with no small amount of grass and mud) offered to him. From his wide sleeve he pulled an intricate glass, and examined it.

"Everything appears in order," he said after a moment, and smiled wide. "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo offered him a wan smile in return, his eyes flickering towards Dáin and then to Thorin.

Thorin nodded at him, a slight dip of his chin that Dáin assumed Bilbo didn't even notice. "Give him a pony."

"No, no. _No,_ that won't be necessary. Thank you," Bilbo said quickly "I'm sure I can keep up on foot."

Thorin gave him an incredulous look, then without another word continued on.

Dáin followed closely behind as Bilbo continued to babble next to the train.

"That was rather rude," Dáin noted.

"It was rude that he forced us to waste this much time," responded Thorin.

"Ah, apologies, Oakenshield," Dáin said sarcastically. "I clean forgot! Cannot have that overgrown lizard thinking we're skipping out on him, can we?"

Thorin snorted out a sigh.

They heard a loud yelp as Bilbo was lifted unceremoniously onto his pony by Thorin's nephews. The boys laughed as the hobbit wobbled on the saddle, clutching at the reins like it was a rope in a storm.

It was quickly followed by Óin's hacking cackle.

"Come on, Nori! Pay up!"

Nori emptied part of his large coin purse into a tiny bag, and chucked it at Óin with a good-natured, if disappointed, smile.

"Is there a bet I missed out on?" Bilbo asked, only to be met with a round of chuckles. 

"Thanks, lad." said Óin gleefully.

After that, they began to make good time. Sparse woodland began to give way to rolling hills that grew taller and taller, with deeper and darker valleys and wilder terrain.

They'd been traveling for some time when Dáin heard a sneeze, and turned to see Bilbo riding up towards him and Thorin cautiously, his nose and eyes red and drippy.

"Horse hair," he grumbled as way of explanation. "I'm having a reaction. I daresay it would be nice to stop."

Dáin shrugged. "Should've planned better, lad."

His sow snorted in agreement.

Bilbo swallowed hard. "I've been meaning to ask as well. Um, what the devil is that?"

From atop his great bristling mount, Dáin smiled proudly as he patted her side affectionately.

" _She_ is an Iron Hills sow! You have pigs in the Shire, don't you?"

Bilbo blinked nervously at the creature as he tentatively let his hand hover over her snout.

"We do. Just...never this large."

"Hm. Well," Dáin said, leaning forward in his saddle. "Fancy a ride?"

"Er..," Bilbo suddenly gasped aloud when the sow snuffled at him, her big dark eyes blinking down at him. Thorin's lip curled up in a small grin at that. So small Dáin almost didn't catch it,  "No thank you!"  Bilbo exclaimed, urging his pony to move away, but his laughable sense of control didn't get him very far. "I'm quite alright with a pony, thank you very much. Very much alright, um, thank you, Dáin. I believe I've made more than my fair share of rash decisions today!"

Dáin shrugged and leaned back. "Your loss, lad. She gives less sores than a pony."

Bilbo sneezed again, and hesitated before dabbing at his nose with an old cloth. "What should I, um, call it?"

Fíli elbowed the hobbit lightly as he came up beside him. " _She_ doesn't have a name yet."

Dáin cleared his throat, smiling at the lad's words.

"She has a name now, actually," he replied.

Kíli's eyes widened a bit as he approached as well. "Tell us, then!"

Dáin patted his mount's head affectionately, "I want her t'be fierce an' ferocious, but gentle in her own way, too. I happened t'meet someone that was just that, and so I've decided. I'll call her Lobelia."

A bubble of loud laughter erupted next them. They turned to find Bilbo doubled over in his saddle, tears prickling the edges of his eyes.

 _"Lobelia?!"_ he gasped. "Lo-Lo...Heavens! When did you--?"

That was the first true laugh Dáin would hear from Bilbo, and it was as sweet and mirthful as one would suspect a hobbit's would be. It looked to come easy to Bilbo, or should have, but it would be quite some time before Dáin heard it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Some lines taken from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
> 
> * _ibrizinlêkh_ = Khuzdul word for sunshine
> 
> * _'amad_ = Khuzdul word for mother
> 
> * _Khoh!_ = A Khuzdul exclamation of surprise
> 
> *Raw potatoes are, in fact, highly toxic for pigs. The more you know, right?
> 
> *I dunno about everyone else, but Lobelia always struck me as the type of person that probably hates most other people, but is a _huuuuge_ animal lover. Also, I always wanted an AU where Lobelia went on the Quest. Now I have it...sorta. Also, c'mon, chance to see Lobelia with Dáin? To see some Lobelia appreciation? I couldn't pass that up!
> 
> * _bâhamê_ = Khuzdul word roughly meaning 'my friend'
> 
> *Yrsa is the name I've given Bombur's wife
> 
> *Ari is the name I've given to the Ri Brothers' shared parent
> 
> *I've based Bifur's Dwarven gesture-signing (Iglishmêk) off of ASL in this fic, so descriptions will parallel it. That goes for any other characters that will make use of it.
> 
> * _halwmurn_ = Khuzdul word for strawberry (a nickname Bofur has for Bombur)
> 
> *Do I have a name for the hobbit barkeep that finds Thorin attractive? Indeed I do! His name is Lamb Little and he's originally from Frogmorton. _It's not relevant at all, haha!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again, y'all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a _while_ , hasn't it? Almost three years! What a hiatus!
> 
> Lots of things have happened this last I posted this fic. I'm in my twenties now, _wow, amiright?_ Cut my hair. Moved. Kissed a girl for the first time. Got professionally paid for my writing, soon to be officially published as well! Exciting stuff like that. So exciting, in fact, that my urge to write this fic plummeted. Then, about...oh, three?...yeah, three months ago, a strange urge came over me to write this again. I started with a sentence or two, which turned into a chapter, which turned into three chapters, which turned into a completed draft of over 100,000 words. Happens, yanno?
> 
> This chapter was originally much longer, but I wanted to ease back into posting this fic. Test the waters and such. If things go as planned and I see no reason why they shouldn't, chapters will get longer and longer as I get more and more comfortable.
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank everyone that never gave up on this fic. You're the real reason it's still here. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. And I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -poplitealqueen
> 
> (Updates will be on Sundays. Turns out writing things ahead of time lets you do that! Whodda thunk et?)

They left the peaceful Hobbit-lands in the tail-end of May, and fair weather followed them for a good long while afterward. The gentle woods outside of Hobbiton eventually opened up to the clear, sluggish waters of the Brandywine, and then to the town of Bree across the river. Thorin made a point of circumventing  the place entirely, instead taking them around the deep ditch and tall hedge that surrounded the outskirts of the village until they found themselves at the start of the Great East Road. 

“We could have at least stopped at The Prancing Pony,” Bilbo grumbled next to Dáin. The lad had eventually grown comfortable with his mount, even going so far as to name him (along with all the others) but with that comfort came an acute need to find things to complain about elsewhere. Before they’d even reached the edge of the Shire, the rest of the Company had migrated further up along the train while Dáin and Lobelia had stayed, tromping beside Bilbo and Olo.

“Olo? Odd name for a pony,” Dáin said, in an attempt to guide Bilbo away from the subject of Bree and the unforgivable crime Thorin had committed by not stopping there.

“I fancied a lad named Olo from Michel Delving once,” Bilbo answered, with small fond smile. When he realized this, he cleared his throat. “Er, to be completely honest, I’ve never owned a pony before. Is it odd to name one like that?”

Dáin chuckled. “I wouldnae know! I’ve never owned a pony in my life.”

“So your home is filled with, uhm,” Bilbo searched for a word as he gestured at Lobelia. “Giant pigs?”

As if in response, Lobelia snorted loudly. Dáin patted her side affectionately below the saddle. “Aye, exclusively. They’re more common in the Iron Hills than iron ore itself.”

“The Iron Hills?” Bilbo’s eyes lit up. “You’ve come all the way from outside Rhovanion, beyond the Misty Mountains? Astounding!”

Dáin was more than a tad impressed. “You’re familiar?”

Bilbo nodded enthusiastically. “I have a particular fondness for maps,” he explained. “I’ve always found the lands to the East particularly fascinating. Tell me, have you ever been to Rhûn? Seen any of those horses with humps?”

Dáin settled back in his saddle, pleased that his subversion had led to talk of home. “Many times on both accounts. My mother an’ her kin were from the Orocarni.”

A dazzled look had taken over Bilbo’s face, brightening up his features to an astounding degree. “Truly? I’m afraid I don’t know much of Dwarven culture. Are the Dwarves from the Far East much different from the ones in the West?”

“In certain ways, aye, but in many more they’re no different at all. Folk are folk, no matter where ya tread,” said Dáin. 

“I’d heard tales that folk from the Far East are evil, influenced by dark forces.” Dáin raised an brow, and not a friendly one. Bilbo continued quickly when he saw it, in a rushed explanatory tone. “But I’m no fauntling! I’m well aware it’s all likely balderdash.”

“It  _ is  _ balderdash,” Dáin agreed. “Stories that color one type o’ people as completely fair or completely foul are the worst sorts o’ tales. Best to let them fade, an’ remember that there’s good an’ bad folks everywhere.”

Bilbo shrugged at that. “It’s a terrible thing to lose a story, even a flawed one, don’t you think?”

“If ya say so, lad.”

Bilbo seemed to know that he had crossed a line, because a short time later he added, sheepishly, “I’m quite sorry about that.” He ran a hand through his tawny curls. “I suppose you’ll be joining everyone at the front of the train to avoid conversation with me now?”

Dáin sighed. “Nah,” and smiled. “Ya only mentioned an unfortunate assumption. Tha’s no reason to abandon ya.”

Bilbo visibly relaxed. “In that case, may I ask more questions?”

“O’ course.”

“Was it a difficult journey?” asked Bilbo.

“More long than it was dangerous,” Dáin replied. “I don’t often make it lest a matter o’ great importance is takin’ place.”

Bilbo ohhed in understanding. “When was the last time you made the trip?”

A familiar, cold feeling settled in Dáin’s chest. He willed his mind away from it. “Long ago, an’ it was far from pleasant. I’m not of a mind t’speak of it now.”

Bilbo nodded, and though he exuded disappointment from every pore, he let the subject change once more.

 

* * *

 

The fair weather did not hold for long. After about a week’s worth of traveling, they had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left, no inns, and the Great East Road branched off into lesser roads that grew steadily worse. The bright and cheerful green of the Shire was replaced with dreary hills on the horizon, rising higher and higher, dark with trees. On some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people. Everything seemed gloomy, and, on the final eve of May, turned to cold and wet.

Dáin despised the time before a storm, and after, for that matter. The change in the air made old wounds ache fiercely, particularly in what remained of his left leg, and he was not the only one. Bifur grew short-tempered and confused, and when he wasn’t pressing a hand to the flesh beneath the orcish axe embedded in his skull and groaning in garbled Khuzdul, he stuck close to young Ori or to one of his cousins, severely quiet.

Balin and Dwalin pressed on stoically, never once complaining despite Dáin being intimately familiar with the fact that they both had their fair share of war scars. He’d shared a medic’s tent with them in Azanulbizar, after all. Yet both the brothers said nary a word, and Dáin steadfastly followed suit.

Bilbo, meanwhile, most certainly did not.

“To think it will soon be June!” grumbled Bilbo, as he splashed along behind Dáin in a very muddy track (all that was left in these particular lands of the Great East Road). “And we’ve seen naught of any adventure.”

Dáin turned in his saddle to find Bilbo glowering almost as expertly as Thorin could beneath the dark green hood and cloak that Dwalin had leant him. They were comically large on Bilbo, the hood dripping into his eyes at every opportunity and the cloak soaking up every drop of water around it, but the lad had brought nothing useful for a long journey with him. He’d have to make do.

“Would ya rather we encounter the dragon now?” Dáin asked.

Bilbo huffed indignantly. “I’d prefer anything to this bloody  _ rain. _ ” To drive his point further, he tore off the hood and cloak that Dwalin had given him, balled them up, stuffed them into Olo’s saddlebags, and moved forward in his saddle with his hands stuffed into his armpits. “You don’t suppose we’ll be setting up camp soon, do you?”

Dáin pointed his chin ahead of them. “You’ll have t’ask Thorin about that.” And to Dáin’s complete amazement, he  _ did _ . Without another word, Bilbo flicked Olo’s reins and trotted to the front of the train. Dáin rubbed rain out of his eyes, if only to make sure he’d truly just seen that. When the image of Bilbo coming up alongside Thorin remained, Dáin clucked his tongue.

“Annoyance makes you brave, eh?” he said aloud.

“Or simply daft,” Balin replied glibly a little ways ahead of him. Dáin snorted.

A few minutes later, Bilbo returned. His face was pinched and irritated. “We’re to make camp,” he said to Dáin’s silent question, “ _ after _ we cross the river.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Balin commented. He seemed to have joined their little group wholly by happenstance and boredom, and wasn’t shy about participating in the conversation.

“No, it is not!” snapped Bilbo. “I suggested we make camp before crossing the river, since if we wait any longer we’ll all be so waterlogged that we’d have to swim the rest of the way to Erebor, but would he listen? No! I’m liable to get a nasty case of Trench Feet at this rate!” Bilbo wiped sodden curls that had gone from tawny to dark brown with moisture away from his face. “I swear, he is-- he is simply --  _ incorrigible! _ Utterly incorrigible.”

Crossing the river was a test in patience in and of itself. The waters were choppy and dark, moving fast beneath a bridge that creaked and cracked in warning as each of them passed over it. But pass over it they did, and Dáin quietly hoped that it would be the last sodding river they would see on this damned journey.

The lands beyond the river lent themselves more to rock instead of woods. Sharp, narrow spines of hills began to rise up all around them above the trees, like weapons ready to tear at the sky. Bilbo looked at them in awe as they passed, the rain forgotten for a moment in favor of a fervent curiosity that Dáin was beginning to suspect was a natural part of their Burglar.

“Are those the Misty Mountains?” Bilbo asked.

Anyone within earshot began to  laugh. Particularly Nori, who let out a sharp snort and a snide comment along the lines of,  _ “Mahal’s Balls, Bof! He don’t even know what mountains are?!” _ Bilbo pursed his lips, and leaned in close to whisper to Dáin conspiratorially.

“I’m guessing they aren’t,” he said sourly.

“Nay,” said Dáin. “Only hills.”

“Righto. There’s nothing to be done about not knowing something until you do anyway,” Bilbo said, dispassionately. “Though I would sorely _ love _ to see Nori attempt to differentiate a Brandywine from a Caspian! Hmph!”

As the sun began to set (or their nearest estimation of it setting, considering naught could be seen through the thick cloud cover), Thorin led them on a path leading up to one set of hills, climbing up toward higher ground. Eventually, they came upon a shallow cave, more an indent in the craggy stone than anything else, with a sheer drop into the water-drenched woods below on one side and cliffs on two others. Their winding footpath was the only clear way towards them, and it was there that Thorin decided they would make camp.

It did not take long for everyone to unsaddle their mounts, save Bilbo, who tugged at straps and cinches ineffectually until Thorin finally stomped over and pulled it off for him, leaving Bilbo standing at his side with a frown on his face, arms wrapped around his middle and feet moving this way and that in an attempt to keep them dry on the wet dirt beneath them.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said stiffly, once Olo was completely unsaddled and trotting towards the rest of the ponies.

“You’re welcome,” Thorin responded, just as stiffly.

“I haven’t seen Thorin that smitten in a good long while,” a voice beside Dáin said. Dáin turned to Balin, who was grinning from ear to ear, and finished unsaddling Lobelia as he spoke.

“Smitten, eh?” he asked.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, Lord Dáin.”

Dáin glanced at Thorin and Bilbo over Lobelia’s back, and saw that both of them had put as much distance between the other in their tiny camp as they could. Thorin was talking with Dwalin, and Bilbo was standing close to Óin and Glóin, watching curiously while they worked to light a fire. Both Bilbo and Thorin were making a point of not looking at the other.

“Aye, he  _ clearly  _ fancies him,” said Dáin sarcastically. “He’ll be braiding his curly hobbit hair into a marriage braid before too long”

“Tease if ya wish, but mark me.” Balin declared, jabbing a square thumb in their direction. “There’s something there.”

Dáin looked at them again. “Complete disdain?”

“ _ Bah _ ,” Balin sighed, with Dáin smiling at him.

 

* * *

 

The clouds parted near dusk, revealing a large, pale moon. Wind rustled in the trees far below their camp, whistling and hissing when it hit the cliffs. It was a cold, damp night. The kind that could make anyone uneasy.

Dáin had just begun to fall asleep when a distant, piercing howl jerked him awake. It was a solitary sound, definitely far away, and he started to relax back into his bedroll when Kíli  whispered from his watch post at the mouth of the tiny cave.

“Orcs,” he said.

“Orcs?!” Bilbo yelped, surprising Thorin awake with his cries. For a moment, Dáin’s cousin had that look about him -- a wild look that said he was far away from here, but after a quick scan of the area, he settled back against the boulder he had fallen asleep against with a truly murderous look of the recently awoken.

“Throat-cutters,” Fíli  replied, jumping into his younger brother’s jest without hesitation. The brothers shared a knowing look.”There’ll be dozens of them out there. The Lone-lands are crawling with them.”

Kíli  nodded at Bilbo’s saucer-eyed look of fear. “They strike,” he said, dramatically, “in the wee small hours when everyone’s asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just  _ lots  _ of blood.”

Bilbo blanched, turning as pale as the distant  moon. Pulling his knees to his chest, he muttered something that Dáin didn’t catch and locked his arms around his knees. Dáin felt a pang of pity for him.

“Ach, don’t let those lads bother ya with their horror stories,” Dáin said, sitting up on his bedroll. “This is their first time out in the wide world, too.”

“That is  _ not _ true,” Kíli  proclaimed. “We went all the way to the coast that lies west of Ered Luin once, don’t you remember, Fee? We saw the ocean and everything.”

Fíli  bit his lip and smirked, the look of a mischievous brother that felt the tides of teasing turning. “I remember that we went with  _ ‘amad  _ and  _ ‘adad,  _ and that you started to weep when _ ‘adad  _ went in the water, because you thought the sea had eaten him!”

Kíli  went pink from his forehead to the sparse fuzz on his young chin. “Did not.” and turned away with an embarrassed frown on his face. Fíli  laughed, and bumped him with his shoulder fondly.

“I cried too if you recall,  _ nadad _ , and I’m supposed to be the tough elder brother.”

The camp returned to silence after that, until it was rattled once again by another distant howl, even farther than the last. Nonetheless, Bilbo flinched and sat bolt upright. “Perhaps we should leave?” Bilbo asked, loudly and nervously. “The o-orcs sound dreadfully close.”

Kíli , whom had finally started to doze off after his watch ended, blinked awake with an grumpy grumble. “Or  _ you  _ can leave, Mr. Boggins,” he suggested politely.

“Kee, c’mon,” Fíli  sighed beside him. “They’ll catch him ‘fore the sun rises and lead the orcs straight back to us. Tell him to wait an hour so we can catch a proper kip.” Both of the brothers chuckled at that.

On instinct, or simply because Dáin knew him well, Dáin looked over at Thorin. Sure enough, Thorin was wide awake, and he looked furious. Thorin’s anger was like a forge: slow to light, and slow to fade once lit, and easy to control when you knew how it worked. Thorin, though, looked to have stoked this particular fire long enough.

“You think that’s funny?” he snapped at his nephews before Dáin could suggest otherwise (not that he wished to). “You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

Fíli and Kíli were both completely awake now, abashed and looking everywhere except at their uncle.

“We didn’t mean anything by it,” Kíli  mumbled.

“No, you didn’t,” Thorin growled. “You know nothing of the world. What would your mother would think of you two mocking it as you have?” When neither brother commented, Thorin continued. “Apologize to Master Baggins.”

“Sorry, Master Baggins,” the brothers chorused.

Bilbo waved a hand, staring in surprise at Thorin. “Bilbo, please.”

Thorin huffed out a breath, satisfied. “And no more of this ‘Mr. Boggins’ nonsense, understood? You’re both well aware of his name, and our Burglar deserves respect.”

“Aye, Uncle,” the brothers echoed.

"Good." With a sigh, Thorin laid back against his boulder and closed his eyes. His nephews fell asleep soon after (nothing bothered those boys very much for long), and Bilbo relaxed in increments, before his eyes fluttered shut and he began to snore. True silence descended upon the camp, and no more distant warg howls could be heard. Yet Dáin remained awake.At one point, he rolled over and spied Balin sitting up beside the smoldering fire for his watch, smoking a pipe. He tilted his chin knowingly at Dáin, and gestured in Iglishmêk. He placed the right thumb and index finger of one hand close to his chest, extended his other fingers, and brought his thumb and index finger together while pulling his hand forward.

Dáin nodded in understanding, but said nothing more. Aye, alright, he could concede that there might be the vague beginnings something there. He only wondered if Thorin or Bilbo could see it. And with that thought in mind, he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Some lines taken from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey  
> *Some lines taken from The Hobbit, Chapter Two: “Roast Mutton”  
>  _*‘amad_ \- Khuzdul word for mother  
>  _*‘adad_ \- Khuzdul word for father  
>  _*Iglishmêk_ \- Dwarven Sign Language  
>  _*nadad_ \- Khuzdul word for brother  
>  _*Brandywine and Caspian_ \- Bilbo is referencing different types of tomatoes (Brandywine Pink and Caspian Pink, to be exact)


End file.
